For some days John Noble was busy making the cave a good place to live. He built a shed with a strong fence around it. He made, too, rough beds of logs, and a table and stools. Sarah took delight in it all.
But after it was done, he said to her, “I must begin the work on the house. It should be finished before winter. You will not mind staying here, Sarah, while Thomas and I work?”
Sarah did mind, but she did not say so. There was still the question of Indians. On the hill and along the river they could see the bark-covered houses. People moved about among the houses, but no Indians had come near the cave. She knew, though, that her father had spoken with some of the men.
She did not want her father to go, but the house must be built. So she looked at him steadily and said, “I will stay here, Father.” But to herself she was saying, “Keep up your courage, Sarah Noble. Keep up your courage!”
Then John Noble and Thomas went across the river at a place where it was not deep. They went on up the hill, and Sarah was alone. For a little while she did not know what to do. Then she took out the Bible they had brought with them. It was a book full of wonderful stories. Which should she read? She liked the story of Sarah, whose namesake she was. Sarah had a son named Isaac. That was a scary story, but it came out all right in the end.
Then there was the story of David and how he killed the giant. . . . Oh, it was hard to choose.
Sarah sat on a stool at the entrance to the shed, the Bible on her lap. So she had often sat and read to her doll, Arabella, and to her little sister, who never would listen. Here there was not anyone to listen—not anyone, not even Arabella, for there had been no room to bring her.
The early June air was mild, but Sarah felt suddenly that she needed her cloak. So she got it, and sat down again.
No one to listen—but she would read to herself. She opened the Bible and there was one of the stories she loved best of all.
It was the story of the boy Samuel and of how the Lord called to him in the night. Sarah thought of the Lord as a kind old man like her grandfather. Her mother said no one knew how He looked, but Sarah was sure she knew. She wished He would speak to her as He had to Samuel. That would be exciting. What in the world would she answer?
Sarah read on and on. And then the sounds began. There was a rustling and a sound of feet coming quietly nearer and nearer. . . .
Sarah held tightly to the book and pulled her cloak around her. Rustle—rustle— — — Suddenly Sarah saw a bright eye peering at her through a clink in the log fence.
They were all around her, some of them crowded in the opening of the palisade. But they were young Indians, not any older than she was. Still, there were many of them. . . . Sarah kept as still as a rabbit in danger. The children came in, creeping nearer, creeping nearer, like small brown field mice, until they were all around Sarah, looking at her.
Sarah closed the book and sat very still. Then she remembered what her father had said as they stood on the hill.
“Good morning,” she said politely, “you are welcome to our house.”
The Indian children stared at her. Then they came nearer. Soon Sarah found that all around her was a ring of children, standing and sitting, staring, staring with their dark eyes. The spring sun shone on their brown bodies, and Sarah realized with a shock that they were not wearing clothes—unless you could call that one small piece of cloth “clothing.” Sarah, secure in dress and cloak and petticoats, felt very well dressed indeed.
The children stared, Sarah began to feel as if their eyes were going all the way through her.
Keep up your courage, Sarah Noble. She thought the words to herself. Here she was in the wilderness with all these Indians around her. She wished the Lord would speak to her as He had to young Samuel. He would tell her what to do.
The Lord did not speak out loud, or at least Sarah did not hear Him. But all at once she knew what to do. She opened the book and began to read to the children. They came nearer and nearer.
They like the story, Sarah thought. They will not hurt me because they like the story.
She read and read, and the children listened, because the sound of her voice was strange and pleasant.
Then the story was over and Sarah closed the Bible. Still the children sat and stared and said not a word.
“My name,” said Sarah clearly, “is Sarah Noble.”
One of the boys said something, then another spoke. Sarah did not understand a word of their strange talk.
“How foolish,” she said aloud, “why can’t you speak English?”
Perhaps some of her impatience crept into her voice, for the spell was broken. Like the deer when her father lifted the gun, the children were off and away.
Sarah sat there by herself and now she really felt alone.
“Oh,” she said to herself. “I wish they would come again!” And she shook her head. “For shame, Sarah Noble, I fear you were not polite. Perhaps they will never come back.”